The Rubik Cube
by The Wrath of Procrastination
Summary: The smartest person in the world couldn't answer her question, what more an IT consultant slash ninja turtle? DonOC.
1. Automatic

**The Rubik Cube **

A sharp clang echoed in the lair, and Donatello quickly picked up his fallen screwdriver. 

Within seconds of reaching down his worktable for the instrument, he was back, sitting as hunched down his work as ever. A routine procedure, it had seemed, an automatic reaction to a mundane cycle. 

Sure enough, the silence in his area was broken with a loud ringing. Without looking away from his machinery, one hand continually tinkering with the wires and cogs, he reached for an overused set of earphones and a microphone and answered the incessant noise.

"Hello, this is Donatello, your friendly IT consultant. How may I help you today?"

An automatic response to a mundane cycle, however, he had no complaints. It had been engraved into his cranium for as long as he could remember, being the one whose head was always stuck to a book or his face shoved in front of a computer. Sometimes, he took a break from those certain activities to focus more on his engineering and maintaining the Lair systems and transportation. 

He never complained.

Five minutes passed slowly, and he placed the headset back on the stand. Three calloused fingers from a deformed green hand rubbed the sides of his head. Given three seconds, the adamant turtle was back on his work. 

The cycle continued until Mikey got home and midnight ticked in faster than Donatello could imagine. A few cups of coffee, more ranting calls from frustrated and clueless customers, and before he knew it, Master Splinter was already awake brewing green tea on the stove. His back ached, his eyes were drooping, his hands were stained with oil as he greeted his brothers an automatic good morning.

He never complained. 


	2. Perserverance

Night time was her favorite time of day, despite the raging battles between good and evil that happen every ten minutes in the dark alley ways, bad usually winning the fight if good didn't carry a stun gun. 

It was probably the wind that made it seem better. It was either the wind or the countless stars that kept her company. They twinkled and shined in the black of the skyline, and she loved lulling herself to sleep on the dewed grass by attempting to count every single white dot she could find.

All the time, as she walked home, she would stay on the same spot in the park and stare. It was something beautiful; even though it was the simplest activity someone could do in New York. 

She was content with it.

The wind blew harder this time, and she put more effort into holding her fly away hair back into its place behind her ears. After a small struggle, she let it go with the flow, and decided to lie down on her back to prevent it from blowing away any further than it needed too. 

This was all she needed.

After some time, her night finally began, as her eyes silently counted the massive amount of stars above her petite form. One, two, three, four, it would take an eternity, she knew.

She was content with counting stars for eternity. That's why she kept counting over and over again, going so far as to literally keeping count with a notebook and a purple pen. She took it out from somewhere under the pockets of her overgrown sweater and fluently wrote numerous sticks unto the clean pad. 

"642,311." 

The white spaces around the page began to overflow with black streaks, and by the stroke of midnight, her counting almost came to an end when she yawned deeply. 

"100,000,631." 

She closed her tally notebook and slipped the pen into the folds of the pages. Placing it back inside her sweater, she draped her arm above her forehead and started to dream of finally being able to count all the stars in the sky. 


	3. Tough

Donatello always wondered how drafts entered their lair

Donatello always wondered how drafts entered their lair. His home, along with his family, is one of the most secluded places in New York. His brothers barely left the shelter of the sewers, except for that time of the month where they don their cloaks and fedora to buy more supplies, but other than that distant date, they never went out.

It wasn't like they _could _go out every now and again.

He gave himself a brief lookdown and sighed. It was pretty obvious as to why that argument of going out exists.

With a quick twist of the screwdriver, Don patched up the broken alarm clock April asked him to fix. Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he carefully placed the newly remedied material and leaned back on his chair. Don stretched and after a few minutes, resumed his other activities.

It now crossed his mind, going outside. What would it be like to leave the lair without having to wear a disguise? What would it be like to walk around, in all their green fleshed glory, in broad daylight? To simply open the hatch to the outside world and catch a cab to the junkyard, instead of jumping and slithering away from prying eyes?

It would probably feel amazing, he thought. Automatically, he reached down his worktable for his headset and placed it tightly around his head. Adjusting the microphone to reach just the right length, he started to answer the loud ringing he was so used too.

Despite the completely unnecessary noise his customer was making on the other end of the phone that did its job in distracting him, he did the favor of answering his previous questions.

Of course he would never find out how it felt like to walk around New York without screeches filling the already noise polluted air. Maybe in the far fetched future, he could do all those aforementioned things, but not today and possibly not even tomorrow.

Donatello wondered, switching the headset off and placing it back on the messy worktable, if there was a small microscopic chance of his dreams coming true.

He regretted even crossing the subject, however, because he started to realize how boring his life was.


	4. Mystery

Something wet trailed across her forehead down to the bridge of her nose

Something wet trailed across her forehead down to the bridge of her nose. Her attempts at ignoring it were met in vain, however, as another droplet of water fell on her face, this time on her cheek.

Finally finding the energy to open her eyes, the petite young woman sat up slowly and used the back of her hand to wipe her face. The sky didn't roar and the clouds were as white as day. Eliminating the factor of it being rain, her mind flickered as her thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt. A small white dot fell on the tip of her nose.

It was snowing.

At a leisurely pace, she removed a long stripped scarf from her neck. After that passage of time, her hands, slender fingers calloused at the tips, started to place the piece of clothing back around her neck until it was snug once more.

Lazily, she propped back down on the soft grass.

It felt almost like home, every time she took her rightful place above the comforts of the green foliage spread across the park of New York. Her eyes glittered at the sight of the sinking red sun, entertaining the thought of setting up camp every night at exactly the same spot she was currently laying on. She surely would get arrested for it, but she could explain it properly and perhaps they'd let her go.

She dismissed that idea after hearing a voice call out to her.

"Get off the grass, it's time for dinner."

Although her mind told her to stay and ignore the ever growing plea, a plea that was gentle yet somewhat playful, she took no heed and kicked herself up. The voice became softer, and she realized that person calling her moved right behind her.

"You okay?"

She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the sun. It was almost completely gone, and the tainted sky above her quelled into her favorite shade of dark. The shade of dark she had gotten used to seeing every night. A wave of cool air met her, and she took the hand being offered to her with ease. However, she frowned, as the small realization struck her like a lightning bolt. The snow stopped.

"What's for dinner?"

The male answered her with a small, fervent smile. "We've got some buffalo wings left from last night. I just reheated it and made some mashed potatoes."

They were halfway away from the lawn of the park when the girl grabbed his sleeve, stopping him from walking any further. He took a look at her, and quirked a brown eyebrow.

"What's the matter? Not up for buffalo wings anymore?"

She didn't respond, and instead, opted to walk back to where they came. Patiently and silently, he watched as she bent down and grabbed a cube like object from the field. He scratched his eyes, a rapid gust of wind blew into his eyes, and by the time he retained his composure, she was back at his side, walking towards the busy street.

The man slowly came back to his senses and followed her equally slow movements, the cube like object the center of her attention.

"What's that you've got there?" he asked.

"I don't know," she gradually replied. He ran closer to her and soon found out what the object of her interest was. He asked if he could borrow it, and she obliged, offering the cube to her older sibling.

"Aha, I know what this," he told her, grabbing her hand out of nowhere and crossed the street. The woman blinked up to him and listened intently. Hearing no protest from her, the man examined the small, colored cube and continued.

"It's a Rubik cube."

She stared.

The man gave her a pat on the head and headed straight for an apartment building, opening the door shortly after.

"Do your research, sis. It just might entertain you when you know what it's capable of doing."


End file.
